Chapter VIII

by Kate Chopin

　　"Do me a favor, Robert," spoke the pretty woman at his side,almost as soon as she and Robert had started their slow, homewardway. She looked up in his face, leaning on his arm beneath theencircling shadow of the umbrella which he had lifted."Granted; as many as you like," he returned, glancing downinto her eyes that were full of thoughtfulness and somespeculation."I only ask for one; let Mrs. Pontellier alone.""Tiens!" he exclaimed, with a sudden, boyish laugh."Voila que Madame Ratignolle est jalouse!""Nonsense! I'm in earnest; I mean what I say. Let Mrs.Pontellier alone.""Why?" he asked; himself growing serious at his companion'ssolicitation."She is not one of us; she is not like us. She might make theunfortunate blunder of taking you seriously."His face flushed with annoyance, and taking off his soft hathe began to beat it impatiently against his leg as he walked. "Whyshouldn't she take me seriously?" he demanded sharply. "Am I acomedian, a clown, a jack-in-the-box? Why shouldn't she? YouCreoles! I have no patience with you! Am I always to be regarded asa feature of an amusing programme? I hope Mrs. Pontellier does takeme seriously. I hope she has discernment enough to find in mesomething besides the blagueur. If I thought there was any doubt--""Oh, enough, Robert!" she broke into his heated outburst."You are not thinking of what you are saying. You speak with aboutas little reflection as we might expect from one of those childrendown there playing in the sand. If your attentions to any marriedwomen here were ever offered with any intention of beingconvincing, you would not be the gentleman we all know you to be,and you would be unfit to associate with the wives and daughters ofthe people who trust you."Madame Ratignolle had spoken what she believed to be the lawand the gospel. The young man shrugged his shoulders impatiently."Oh! well! That isn't it," slamming his hat down vehementlyupon his head. "You ought to feel that such things are notflattering to say to a fellow.""Should our whole intercourse consist of an exchange ofcompliments? Ma foi!""It isn't pleasant to have a woman tell you--" he went on,unheedingly, but breaking off suddenly: "Now if I were likeArobin-you remember Alcee Arobin and that story of the consul's wife atBiloxi?" And he related the story of Alcee Arobin and the consul'swife; and another about the tenor of the French Opera, who receivedletters which should never have been written; and still other stories,grave and gay, till Mrs. Pontellier and her possible propensity fortaking young men seriously was apparently forgotten.Madame Ratignolle, when they had regained her cottage, went into take the hour's rest which she considered helpful. Beforeleaving her, Robert begged her pardon for the impatience--he calledit rudeness--with which he had received her well-meant caution."You made one mistake, Adele," he said, with a light smile;"there is no earthly possibility of Mrs. Pontellier ever taking meseriously. You should have warned me against taking myselfseriously. Your advice might then have carried some weight andgiven me subject for some reflection. Au revoir. But you looktired," he added, solicitously. "Would you like a cup of bouillon?Shall I stir you a toddy? Let me mix you a toddy with a drop ofAngostura."She acceded to the suggestion of bouillon, which was gratefuland acceptable. He went himself to the kitchen, which was abuilding apart from the cottages and lying to the rear of thehouse. And he himself brought her the golden-brown bouillon, in adainty Sevres cup, with a flaky cracker or two on the saucer.She thrust a bare, white arm from the curtain which shieldedher open door, and received the cup from his hands. She told himhe was a bon garcon, and she meant it. Robert thanked her andturned away toward "the house."The lovers were just entering the grounds of the pension.They were leaning toward each other as the wateroaks bent from thesea. There was not a particle of earth beneath their feet. Theirheads might have been turned upside-down, so absolutely did theytread upon blue ether. The lady in black, creeping behind them,looked a trifle paler and more jaded than usual. There was no signof Mrs. Pontellier and the children. Robert scanned the distancefor any such apparition. They would doubtless remain away till thedinner hour. The young man ascended to his mother's room. It wassituated at the top of the house, made up of odd angles and a queer,sloping ceiling. Two broad dormer windows looked out toward the Gulf,and as far across it as a man's eye might reach. The furnishingsof the room were light, cool, and practical.Madame Lebrun was busily engaged at the sewing-machine. Alittle black girl sat on the floor, and with her hands worked thetreadle of the machine. The Creole woman does not take any chanceswhich may be avoided of imperiling her health.Robert went over and seated himself on the broad sill of oneof the dormer windows. He took a book from his pocket and beganenergetically to read it, judging by the precision and frequencywith which he turned the leaves. The sewing-machine made aresounding clatter in the room; it was of a ponderous, by-gonemake. In the lulls, Robert and his mother exchanged bits ofdesultory conversation."Where is Mrs. Pontellier?""Down at the beach with the children.""I promised to lend her the Goncourt. Don't forget to take itdown when you go; it's there on the bookshelf over the smalltable." Clatter, clatter, clatter, bang! for the next five or eightminutes."Where is Victor going with the rockaway?""The rockaway? Victor?""Yes; down there in front. He seems to be getting ready todrive away somewhere.""Call him." Clatter, clatter!Robert uttered a shrill, piercing whistle which might havebeen heard back at the wharf."He won't look up."Madame Lebrun flew to the window. She called "Victor!" Shewaved a handkerchief and called again. The young fellow below gotinto the vehicle and started the horse off at a gallop.Madame Lebrun went back to the machine, crimson withannoyance. Victor was the younger son and brother--a tetemontee, with a temper which invited violence and a will which noax could break."Whenever you say the word I'm ready to thrash any amount ofreason into him that he's able to hold.""If your father had only lived!" Clatter, clatter, clatter,clatter, bang! It was a fixed belief with Madame Lebrun that theconduct of the universe and all things pertaining thereto wouldhave been manifestly of a more intelligent and higher order had notMonsieur Lebrun been removed to other spheres during the earlyyears of their married life."What do you hear from Montel?" Montel was a middleagedgentleman whose vain ambition and desire for the past twenty yearshad been to fill the void which Monsieur Lebrun's taking off hadleft in the Lebrun household. Clatter, clatter, bang, clatter!"I have a letter somewhere," looking in the machine drawerand finding the letter in the bottom of the workbasket."He says to tell you he will be in Vera Cruz the beginning ofnext month,"-- clatter, clatter!--"and if you still havethe intention of joining him"--bang! clatter, clatter, bang!"Why didn't you tell me so before, mother? You know Iwanted--"Clatter, clatter, clatter!"Do you see Mrs. Pontellier starting back with the children?She will be in late to luncheon again. She never starts to getready for luncheon till the last minute." Clatter, clatter!"Where are you going?""Where did you say the Goncourt was?"